


Taking Your Heart

by eyrist



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, akeshu - Freeform, hearts for sale au, heartsmith au, i mean vaguely victorian anyway, it's just all softness i swear, like it's so pure, old-timey, probably heavily ooc goro, shuake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:29:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25589890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyrist/pseuds/eyrist
Summary: The tale of the Heartsmith and the man with a broken heart.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro & Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 18
Kudos: 98





	Taking Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> hi !! please watch [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QU3o9xX6pw) or read [this](https://tapas.io/episode/31562) for context if you don't already know Hearts for Sale !!

Throughout his life, Goro Akechi has learned of many things.

Love, for one, was something he felt long ago. It was sweet, and once upon a time in his life, he’d felt his heart swell with the tell-tale warmth of affection from loving someone and being loved. His young heart had once been filled to the brim with joy and love, with only fairy tales and a kind of _magic_ only felt when he was with those he cared for deeply.

But life has a funny way of keeping things in balance. Soon enough, he’d also learned what it felt to be _heartbroken_.

There was a time so long ago, when he felt himself be drained of the familiar happiness that was his entire world. Perhaps, he could relate it to the seasons— from Autumn to Winter, life’s colour faded from before his eyes, the stunning and warm reds of fall slowly washed away with a cold, unfeeling, and never-ending white.

But that was a part of his life that’d come and passed already, and though the time of his heart’s repair was a long and winding road, all that really mattered now was that his heart was pieced back together once more.

Goro could admit that he’d felt just bits and pieces of disappointment once his fiancée had decided they were not meant to be. During the time leading up to the day they were to be wed, he’d still been right in the state of feeling nothing but pain and heartbreak— and then, just in the nick of time (as if by magic) his heart had been repaired and he could feel the overflowing warmth of love once more seep back into it.

He could never recall how that happened, what forces had been blessed upon him for his heart to suddenly beat with a healthy and happy tune once again, but Goro was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth anymore— and so, even despite being left by his fiancée for someone she was actually happy with (and _loved_ , most importantly) he continued his day-to-day life. He lived as happy of days as he possibly could, and even though there was just a hollow part in his chest that yearned for _something_ that Goro could never figure out, Goro still gave to others what was once blessed upon him.

 _Love_.

Though it was mostly platonic and familial, he gave it back twofold of what he was gifted. That was the least he could do, being a man who’d gone without love for so long only to one day feel it flow back into his heart again.  
Ann was his best friend, always there for him and always by his side. She consoled him through the period of his heartbroken state and was there when his fiancée had gone. Then, there was Futaba, whose smile was wide and whose sympathy reached the very depths of the earth. She, too, had known a much-too-familiar heartache to what Goro lived through, and together, they held each other up through the time. He was only happy that Futaba’s heart had been repaired, too, and if he could recall correctly, it was just days after his own had been stitched back together once more.

Again, he wondered what magic existed in this world for their too-broken and too-shattered hearts to be fixed— just what (or _who_ ) it was that managed to make them beat like the drums of a spring night’s festival.

Perhaps, he’ll never find the answer. Perhaps, that was alright.

The longing still stuck to his heart whispered otherwise.

“Ah, Mister Akechi! Welcome back!”

Leblanc was such a nice café. Goro had only stumbled upon here once or (more than) five times before, but its atmosphere was nice and homely, its coffee nothing short of divine, and its barista..

“I very well couldn’t keep myself from coming back for _too_ long, Mister Kurusu.”

Well.. He did things to Goro’s heart. He felt it beat excitedly on the first time he visited the café and saw Akira Kurusu, the man’s face making Goro feel a sense of joy and familiarity that he could never quite explain— despite knowing he’s never seen this man before in his life.

Again, it beat just a _tad_ bit harder once he’d given Goro a smile, the light in his eyes seeming a bit more genuine today. _That_ made Goro feel almost weak in the knees, and so he was quick to find himself on his usual seat, briefcase set on the spot next to him.

“The usual?” Kurusu asked— even if his hands already made for the beans of Goro’s favourite blend. Goro responded with a small, grateful smile, head lolling down just a bit afterwards. Nothing escaped Kurusu’s dark gaze, it seemed.

“It’s been a long day at work today, hasn’t it?”

“Another one, unfortunately,” Goro hummed, letting his eyes fall closed as he breathed in the scent of the café: The entanglement of _spice_ from Kurusu’s dishes, the _richness_ of his coffee. Kurusu had given him a small laugh in response, and the sound agreed very much with Goro’s ears— alongside that ever-present _tick_ and _tock_ of various small machinery built into the café’s walls, something he never noticed until his third visit to the establishment.   
Apparently, Kurusu once worked as a “ _smith of sorts_ ”. He never specified what it was he worked with, exactly, but Goro had a strong hunch that it _might_ have been with clocks— Leblanc had tiny gears that ticked right in place to allow Kurusu easier work, whether it be the emergency switch that clicked off his stoves all the way from the counter, or the automated measurer for his coffee.

It always fascinated Goro to watch them at work, and the quiet _whirs_ and _ticks_ provided a nice, ambient background sound whenever he sipped his drink.

Quietly, he heard porcelain being set in front of him. The smell alone made Goro’s lips quirk up, his eyes opening just as Kurusu’s hand retracted back to his side.

“Well then, I hope my coffee soothes you.”

Kurusu gave him a smile, all warmth and quiet joy— And yet, Goro knew it didn’t reach his eyes.

Though he and Kurusu were only acquaintances (because to say they were _friends_ after only meeting in this café for those few times might’ve been a stretch) Goro read him easily, like a book but with the cover glued to the first few pages.  
The barista owned Café Leblanc, had inherited it from his father actually. He said he fell in love with his job and the quiet air of the café, with talking to the customers who wanted a chat, with being a friend with no real commitment as a barista that lent a listening ear, but whenever Kurusu talked about it, there was just _something_ missing from his eyes.

There wasn’t that familiar light of joy seeping into them, no natural curl of his lips upwards nor any real excitedness in the way his hands gestured as he spoke. Goro always felt he was an actor (a very good one, even) but to talk about matters of _love_ seemed.. just a bit foreign to Akira Kurusu. He spoke about the things he loved down to the minute detail, and it seemed more like an explanation rather than a ramble.

It always felt as if Kurusu was an outsider looking in as he talked about the café and what he did, even if his voice and tone were convincing enough.

Goro still wasn’t convinced that he _truly_ loved it— not at all. He found it strange with how kind and committed to his work Kurusu was, his hands expertly dripping water over the coffee grinds, presenting his dishes with a flourish and flair with the pride of showing off his father’s greatest work, his smile growing just a tad wider upon seeing the satisfaction of his customers with what he’d served. It felt like he mimicked what true love was, mimed and acted it to the best of his abilities.

And Goro didn’t know exactly why he doubted him. Kurusu _clearly_ looked like he was in love with running his café.

Maybe he should stop staring into his coffee thinking about it.

Goro took a sip, and right as he did, he peered up at Kurusu standing across the counter— who was _watching him_ with his eyes focused and lined with either intent or interest.

That was another thing: Goro often noticed Kurusu staring at him.

He decided to speak up.

“Your coffee is as amazing, as always.”

“I’m glad,” Kurusu chuckled, “I thought you’d get tired of it by this point.”

“Hm?”

His head tilted to one side as he sipped once more, a brow raised and the cup’s rim held just below his lips. Kurusu chortled a small laugh again as Goro questioned him with his eyes.

“Well, you’ve been visiting the café an awful lot often lately.. Most folks would get tired of the same thing just after three drinks.”

“Is that so?” Goro took another sip, placing the cup back onto its saucer. “Well, to be frank, I _do_ enjoy your company, too. This may only be by how good of a listener you are, but you feel like.. Like you’re someone I’ve known for a long time already.”

There was something in Kurusu’s eyes that lit up at those words, widened as they were by just small millimetres. His face seemed to soften once it reached him, a small smile (something as close to genuine that Goro has gotten out of him) pulling from the corners of his lips.

Still, though, he averted his gaze, looked to the wall clock to his left— something that Goro just _knew_ he worked on himself, if only because of how intricate its inner workings looked through the glass which displayed its gears.

“It’s not everyday I hear that, to be honest, Mister Akechi.”

“It’s the best way I can put it,” Goro laughed, deciding to look upon his coffee as he picked up the cup again.

“Well then.. Thank you.”

The café settled into a comfortable quiet after that, with Goro finishing off his drink in slow, deliberate sips, and Kurusu doing this and that around the space. At times, they’d find themselves discussing their day, work and the town and all, and once his cup was empty, Goro picked up his briefcase before leaving money on the counter.

He was by the door when he’d turned to look over his shoulder, a last smile sent Kurusu’s way.

“Thank you for the afternoon, Mister Kurusu. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it then.” Kurusu grinned back at him, hand waving just a bit before he seemed to be struck with a realisation. “ _Oh_ , but the café is going to close early tomorrow. Might be best if you came a little earlier than you usually do.”

Goro stopped, hand to the knob.

“Hm? Would it be polite if I asked why?”

“It’s..”—Kurusu’s smile turned sheepish, hand now rubbing the back of his neck—“It’s my birthday tomorrow, you see. I was planning on strolling around town to celebrate.”

Oh.

_That’s an odd way to spend your birthday.._

He didn’t voice the thought out, but Goro _did_ give the man a nod, a wave goodbye, before Leblanc’s bell chimed at his leave.

Left within the café, Akira Kurusu could only watch longingly as Goro Akechi left, a small, tired sigh leaving his lips once they’d fallen from his practised smile. He decided to start closing up shop after a few more minutes of waiting for more customers to arrive, and when none had found their way within Leblanc, he was left wiping down tables and rubbing his chest through his shirt and apron— where the tiniest bit that was left of his heart sat, beating weakly, and feeling nothing.

It was nice to at least see where the last of it had gone to again today, though.

* * *

He was running late— both physically _and_ metaphorically.

Still, Goro was careful as he ran through the streets, briefcase in one hand and the ribbon of a box held in the other. Work that day had allowed him to leave at the earliest possible moment he could, and between leaving the building and picking up his order, he was sprinting under the shades of dusk, weaving through the crowds and navigating his way to a certain café.

He hoped he wasn’t too late. It was typically long past sunset when Goro came to visit, and Kurusu hadn’t exactly given him much the day prior except for _“the café is going to close early.”_

Leblanc was close, he knew it. Just left of the town square and then past the flower shops, and by that point it was a quick turn right and down the cobbled street. Already, some authorities were setting the streetlamps aglow the closer night fell upon them, Goro hurrying his steps the most he could without jostling his package _too_ much.

Would Kurusu even like it? Goro knew far too little about him to guess right.

Soon, his eyes caught on the red and white canopy draped over the familiar building. Goro’s steps slowed the more he neared it, breaths heaving in and out of his lungs and a relieved sigh making its way past his lips once he saw the warm lights from within still glowing. Strolling closer now, he’d find an almost-nostalgic smile pulling up his cheeks as he saw the placard placed right next to the door, _“Leblanc”_ carved amongst its bronze and brass in a swirling, intricate font.

The second he stopped, just right in front of the entrance, though, the lights dimmed. Familiar, black curls greeted him first and foremost, eyes darker than the night’s sky following soon after, and as Akira Kurusu closed the door of his café behind himself, Goro was greeted with that same, charming ( _faked_ ) smile.

“Mister Akechi!”

“I—” Goro was panting, sweat trickling down to his brow. “I hope I’m not.. _too_ late..?”

“Well, I’ve just closed the café for today but— What’s that you have there?”

There was the tiniest hint of curiosity there ( _interest_ ) once Kurusu’s eyes caught on the white box in Goro’s left hand. Lifting it up by the red ribbon between his fingers, Goro gave him a small, shaky smile, a laugh that betrayed how out of breath he actually was.

“ _Cake_ ,” he replied simply, “Happy birthday, Mister Kurusu.”

Kurusu was good at hiding things about himself, but Goro would be damned if he didn’t see the flush colouring his face, a dusting of dark pink tinting his cheeks and making Akira Kurusu positively _glow_. Not more than five minutes later, they were within the café, a few of the bulbs flicked on as they settled at one of the booths.

As Kurusu made _both_ of them cups of coffee, Goro was unwrapping the box—holding his breath in anticipation of what the dessert has become—before finding himself breathing out a long, _deep_ , and relieved sigh out.

“Thank Heavens the cake is safe..”

“Rough journey here?” Kurusu snickered, Goro jumping just _slightly_ at the man’s presence suddenly looming over his side, balancing a tray in one hand before he’d set it upon the table.

Goro helped him set the plates and the forks, gave Kurusu a small thanks as he was given a cup of his favourite blend. Across from him, on the opposite, plush couch, Kurusu sat and stirred his own coffee— something that smelled rich and yet _spicy_ , tantalising, and somehow still _sweet_.  
Now, he’s never seen Kurusu drink his own coffee before, and Goro found himself just a _bit_ fascinated on just what the man liked in his drink. From the aroma alone, it proved to be a complicated brew, with all the different flavours spilling into place atop each other and yet harmonising into something that made Kurusu hum with satisfaction.

He decided to busy himself with producing a box of matches from his pocket, was quick to light up the singular candle poking from the middle of the cake. Goro has also never seen Kurusu sans his trademark, green apron before, and the realisation that Kurusu looked built from beneath the lack of extra layer over his clothes.. _did something_ to Goro.

“I wasn’t too certain if this would be intruding, if I’ll be honest.” Goro found the smile growing back onto his lips as the candle’s flame flickered before the dark of Kurusu’s wide eyes. “But I wanted to pay the gesture forwards.”

“You didn’t have to,” Kurusu chuckled, shaking his head a bit, but keeping his eyes locked on Goro’s, “ _Really_ , Mister Akechi, I’m flattered— You’re..”

The café trailed to a quiet—not uncomfortable, but making Goro almost shiver—as Kurusu looked to search for the words. He watched as the man darted his stare this way and that, saw as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a gulp, and in that _one_ moment..

“You’re.. _truly_ a kind man.”

In that one moment, he saw what may have been a glimpse of Akira Kurusu’s face without the mask.

The words he mumbled into the air between them felt heavy, weighed with a sentiment that Goro (for the life of him) couldn’t trace the origin of. It wasn’t like Goro has done anything in particular save for maybe the cake, but the way Kurusu had said what he said—and the _way_ his eyes seemed to lift that veil of an actor, for just a _single_ moment suspended in time—told Goro of the depths of his appreciation and sincerity.

It was strange.

It was.. in a way, _shocking_.

But something within Goro’s heart still jumped at all of it, beat giddy with joy at _Kurusu’s_ happiness.

His hand slid across the table, finding itself resting above Kurusu’s own. Though the glove wrapped around his limb was thick, he could maybe say that he felt the warmth of the other’s— if not from his hand, then from the way he looked to Goro.

“ _Happy birthday to you..”_

To use his voice again (for something like _this_ , at least) was still a bit strange. He hadn’t practised in so long that, though Goro closed his eyes, he still felt the chill of performance anxiety creep up onto his skin. He’d never moved his hand away from Kurusu’s—either from the potential awkwardness or because Kurusu’s hand felt nice—but Goro still found himself hiccupping, just _slightly_ , once he felt fingers slip between the spaces between his own, before tightening their hold on him as he continued to sing.

“A songbird..” Kurusu hummed after the song had come to a close, the smile just _audible_ in his voice, “Thank you for that, Mister Akechi.”

Slipping his hand back, there was the tiniest part of him that whimpered at the distance between their touches once more— but Goro chose to ignore it, if only for the sake of smiling at Kurusu as he picked up the knife and began cutting out slices for them.

“It was my pleasure.. Akira.”

Gods knew Goro Akechi just about spasmed on the spot at how much Kurus— _Akira’s_ features had brightened upon hearing that, like the joy had finally seeped into his eyes and the light that he’d lacked finally returned, if only in the tiniest sliver— bits and pieces, but Goro saw that they were there.

It was soon after that they dined upon the cake Goro brought him—a sweet little thing with vanilla and strawberries, topped with sugary cream—and Goro found the entire thing to be, simply, _nice_.  
He felt comfortable sitting there, across Akira within the man’s café, taking pieces of his slice and humming at the flavours blooming across his tongue. Akira himself looked as if he was having the time of his life, quietly smiling and gazing upon the cake, then glancing upon Goro’s face, before he continued to eat his share.

Together, they ate, and in a way, Goro felt as if this moment was somewhat familiar, somewhat _repeated_ — but he’d never had this with the man before, and so, again, he felt his heart pump with happiness and his head wrack for the memories.

There were none.

Akira spoke up halfway through his slice, his cup lifted to just below his chin.

“Goro..” and by _Gods_ if Goro didn’t visibly jump at that, his eyes snapping up to Akira’s in just a split-second. “.. Have you ever heard of _The Heartsmith_?”

“I can’t say I have,” Goro murmured, finishing off his cake with the final bite as he shook his head, “Who is that?”

There was something in Akira’s eyes that dampened, something akin to _defeat_ and lingering disappointment colouring his eyes, before he’d blinked them away. After a sip of his coffee, he’d place the cup back onto its saucer, hands joining together on the table as he leaned forward, a small (almost _nostalgic_ ) smile gracing his lips.

“There was once a man in this town that knew how to repair broken hearts. It’s said that no matter how shattered the pieces were, or how badly the heart was torn apart, he was able to stitch it back together, mend it until everything was back in its place.”

Goro nodded along, his eyes wide with attention and interest.

“In the square, right in the middle of all the shops, they say there was a little girl with bright red hair— she sold hearts, had quite a few beauties to offer.” Akira chuckled at that, and it was as if he reminisced on it, like he was _there_. “One day, a man stopped by her as she tried to sell the hearts she had on hand, and then asked her if she happened to be able to repair broken hearts.

“ _“Oh, no. I just sell hearts, sir,”_ she said, all before pointing down the left road, _“But if you go down that road, you will find The Heartsmith!”_ ”

As he was told the story, Goro found himself inching further and further onto the edge of his seat, interest piqued, the scene being painted in his imagination like vivid memories and photographs.

“The man soon walked down the path, going deeper by the flower shops and then spotting a shop to his right— Above a set of double doors, with intricate swirls carved onto the wood, was a golden plate engraved with _‘Heartsmith’_.”

Akira breathed a sigh, lips pulling up by the corners just ever so _slightly_ as he closed his eyes.

“When the man met The Heartsmith, he asked if it was possible to repair his broken heart. It was shred right down the middle, cracks lining the two, broken pieces, with just the tiniest bit of it still connected at the very bottom. He was dismayed when The Heartsmith told him that it looked _pretty damaged_ ”—he laughed at that, almost to himself as he echoed the words—“but it was still possible to be fixed, even if it took more time.

“The man said that it would be a difficult thing, seeing as he was to be married in just a few days’ time— and so, The Heartsmith vowed to do everything he could to fix the man’s broken heart before his wedding.. Two days later, when the man returned, The Heartsmith bore the bad news.”

Those dark eyes looked to the cake, at the strawberries baked between the vanilla layers, and Akira could only sigh, smile a sad smile, before he continued.

“The man’s heart had lacked the vital parts needed for _love_ to function right, and seeing the man’s crestfallen face.. Hearing the melancholy in his voice..” Akira took a deep breath, eyes casting down onto his lap. “He reassured the man that there was still _one thing_ he could do to repair his broken heart. Come the man’s third visit, The Heartsmith presented him with it— Fully repaired, stitched back together and glowing red with overflowing warmth and love. The man was ecstatic and thanked The Heartsmith for repairing his broken heart, even going to the point of inviting The Heartsmith to his wedding. Shortly after the man left, the bell above his shop rang, and The Heartsmith, with what was left of his own heart, gifted it to the girl with bright, red hair, who sold hearts on the street but had none for her own.”

Goro.. quite frankly, wasn’t ready the moment Akira’s eyes lifted to meet his own, melancholy and pain flashing for only a split-second, before it was gone completely.

“And that is the story of The Heartsmith.”

Why did Goro’s heart ache so?

“It’s.. an old tale passed down around this neighbourhood,” Akira chuckled, and again, it was as if that mask had once more slipped back onto his face, his smile lacking the dimmed brightness that Goro had seen just a half hour before, “Some say that the man had married his fiancée and lived a happy, loving life, while others say that the girl then became a Heartsmith of her own. The story was left to an ambiguous ending, but I like to think that all of them found happiness, in the end.”

“What do they say about The Heartsmith, though?”

Goro voiced the question before he could even think about it, his eyes wide and curious as he stared at Akira.

“Surely, The Heartsmith had a happy ending of his own?”

But Akira simply picked up his cup again, gazing down upon his drink as he hummed, almost in thought.

“His shop was gone and lost to the flow of time, being renovated to business after business. The Heartsmith himself had disappeared altogether after giving all of his heart away to repair others. That’s the only thing I’ve heard of The Heartsmith so far.”

“That’s.. not a very happy ending, I think..” Goro trailed off, his voice dying as he looked down upon his own drink.

“Well, wherever he is..”

His eyes lifted, just as Akira had reached across the table and tilted his chin back up.

“I feel like he found happiness, too.”

The night ended after they parted ways before Leblanc’s entrance, saying their goodbyes and leaving lingering touches on each other’s hands.

* * *

The story of The Heartsmith had driven Goro into curiosity after the night of Akira’s birthday.  
After his work ended in the following days, he’d find himself wandering around the neighbourhoods, looking for bits and pieces of information about the tale. He wasn’t sure if it was because of his own fixed heart that made him so curious, or if it was because the story was just that impactful, but all the renditions he found had been relatively the same, albeit with characters changed here and there— the only constant being The Heartsmith.  
From both near and far ends of the town, there were people that knew of his story, and people that had been completely unaware of it— and it was a bit strange, because on his last night out looking for stories of The Heartsmith, he’d come across an old man, sitting out on the porch with his flowers on full bloom.

Forget-me-nots.

“There’s one more thing about The Heartsmith, young man,” he’d added, right as Goro was about to take his leave, “Those he’s helped never remember him. _Why_ , my little girl didn’t even remember The Heartsmith after he helped her fix her heart— It’s why I planted these flowers, just to thank him.”

“Do you—” Did he really want to do this? “Do you happen to remember his name? Or what he looked like?”

Maybe he did.

Maybe he could know why his heart had suddenly beat with love and joy again.

“No one knew him as anything other than _The Heartsmith_ , sonny.” The man rubbed his chin, looking lost in thought as he adjusted the spectacles on his face. “He was a younger fellow, black hair, sharp eyes. Last I heard, his shop became a café, but I don’t know who runs it now.”

Goro checked his wristwatch.

_I still have time.._

“Then— What’s the name of this café, sir?”

The man smiled at him, the way his lips had curled up looking fond.

“That’s easy. It’s right by the square, down the left road and then right after the flower shops. Follow the path of the setting sun, and you’ll find _Leblanc_.”

* * *

“ _Oh,_ Goro!”

Goro looked up, standing on the street that led to Leblanc, and even under the night’s sky and the glow of the streetlamps, Akira Kurusu still looked as dazzling as the moon itself.  
He’d gotten the gist that Akira had _just_ locked up for the night (the lack of an apron around his frame and the lights of Leblanc being off made it evident) but perhaps what caught Goro’s eyes first and foremost was the bouquet which Akira held in his hands— Light blue, and yet popping amidst the darkness and the shades of brown and grey that lined the streets.

“I believe I’m too late this time?” he asked, lips pulling up into a smile despite the lingering uneasiness that festered within his core.

“I’m afraid so,” Akira replied, only the hints of a sheepish grin stretching across his cheeks as he approached Goro, “ _But_ I was about to go on a stroll. Would you care to join me?”

“This being..?”

A hint of mischief grew in Akira’s sharp eyes, right as he looped his arm around Goro’s and tugged him forwards.

“A simple stroll, dear sir. I’d like some company, and I believe you enjoy mine.”

There really wasn’t much else that Goro could do aside from follow along— And besides, it was a beautiful night out. The trees danced as the cool Autumn breeze swept through them, the moon shone fully, illuminated the dark blanket of the sky as stars dotted the universe above them, and the usual hustle and bustle of the town died down as their shops closed and their stalls tucked away for the evening, lessening how many people walked the streets as they did.

Goro walked in-step beside Akira—the man never relenting his hold around Goro’s arm—and the further they travelled away from the square, the more Akira Kurusu seemed to be able to _breathe in_ and _light up_.  
He’s never seen Akira like this before, not _really_ , so it was a nice change of pace from his usual faked smiles and melancholic gazes.

“This may be a bit late of me to ask but, where _exactly_ are we strolling to?”

Akira only gave him a _look_ , a smile, before he’d turned his head back forwards.

“A.. A surprise, I suppose you can say.” From the corner of his eye, Goro caught how Akira swallowed down a gulp, akin to _nervously_. “Since the night you visited my café, I’ve been in thought— and I thought, if I _were_ , hypothetically, to give you a surprise, it ought to be at the best spot I know of.”

“Well,” Goro huffed, sounding more like a breath than anything, “ _You’re_ being awfully chatty tonight. Should I expect another world-ending omen, then?”

To his joke, though, Akira snickered— and Goro could tell it was different, less void of true emotion and more _anxious_.

He kept quiet on the rest of their walk, guiding Goro to the outskirts of the town and beyond. They entered the pathways to the forest, and the deeper they went, the more Goro felt himself shiver with the chill of the night creeping up on him through the layers of his clothing. As if to contrast, Akira looked warmer, _warmer_ , like he’d been acclimated to this already and walking through the cold forest at the later hours was a nightly habit.

To be fair, though, knowing what little he knew of Akira, it might actually _have_ been a hobby of his.

“I’m beginning to think that you might be leading me to a death trap, Akira.”

“No, no, no—” Akira tugged him forwards again, steps quickening, “We’re _very_ close.”

And through the canopy of the trees, Goro saw what might’ve been the most wondrous thing he’s ever been blessed with.  
To see the moon from below, in the midst of the town and among the streets— that was one thing; But the sight that Akira had guided him to was vast, _enchanting_ , and Goro soon found himself in a daze the more his eyes widened, head tilted up to better grasp what he was seeing.

They approached a hill, one that overlooked the town and stood high above the trees, and from up above, Goro could only bask in the size of the moon before them, _glowing_ and not simply _shining_. He felt himself step on something softer than the hard earth on their trek to that point, and letting his gaze trail down, he’d see what looked to be an endless bed of flowers, soft blue, small, but looking like a sea with how they bunched together up to a single tree near the edge of the cliff.

As Akira led him to that tree, he’d soon come to realise that they were the same flowers as the one in Akira’s bouquet.

Forget-me-nots.

“ _Moonlight’s Peak_ ,” Akira murmured, staring upon the sky now, too, “I come here often, since the town doesn’t seem to know of it. Here, I can _breathe_.”

Goro found himself sighing contentedly, feeling at peace as he settled down by the trunk of the tree.

“Fitting name.”

Akira followed suit.

“It is, isn’t it?”

Like Goro, the man would sigh, too, bouquet resting upon his lap as he let the moonlight seep into his skin. Goro cast his eyes to the side, watching as Akira simply _breathed_ and listened to the sounds of the night: the rustle of the trees, the soft breaths that fanned from his lips, the occasional _hoot_ of an owl from far away.

Like this, Akira Kurusu looked asleep— calm, with his eyes closed and his body laying back against the bed of flowers and the tree.

“Do you remember the story of The Heartsmith?”

How could Goro ever forget?

“I do.”

“I forgot to tell you something about him and his work,” Akira began again, eyes still closed, his breathing still deep and even, “Whenever he did a repair, he often took parts of his own heart to make up for what the hearts he fixed lacked. He had a tremendous amount of love, and he used it to fill in the little gaps of his customers’ hearts.”

Akira breathed a sigh once more, and soon, Goro found himself staring into the endless abyss of his eyes.

“When he fixed the man’s heart, he poured all of his love into it— and when he gifted his own heart to the girl, he was left with the smallest heart there ever was, so small that no one would think it was even a heart.

“It left him unfeeling, even though he still wanted to feel— and his emotions soon began to wither. He’s—”

“ _Heartsmith_.”

His eyes didn’t widen once Goro had cut him off, voice small and quiet, as if he didn’t want to frighten Akira, or worse yet, shatter this moment to bits— just like his own heart was, right before The Heartsmith pieced it back together.

Akira remained quiet for a bit, simply staring into the red of Goro’s eyes, admiring them like the first day he saw them in front of the shop’s intricate double doors.

“Yes, Goro?”

And Goro, too, lost his voice then, quiet filling in the air between them. Though they moved not a single muscle, and spoke not a single word, it still felt comfortable, _peaceful_. He felt the courage to ask him this, and though it was a conversation akin to a dance, they moved together in a slow dance of back and forth.

“Why are you fond of Forget-me-nots so?”

Akira looked at Goro with just that tiniest bit of light shining across his eyes.

“I empathise with its meaning.. I don’t want to be forgotten.”

And held his gaze like the he once held Goro’s heart.

“Even if it still always happens?”

All before he’d picked a single forget-me-not from his bouquet—

“.. Yes.”

—And offered it to Goro.

Goro accepted it in kind, his eyes casting down to gaze upon the flower between his fingers. He admired its soft, blue petals, brought it close to his nose to sniff— and when all was said and done, he reached out, just the tiniest bit with the minimal distance between them, and tucked it behind Akira’s ear, his hand lingering by the man’s cheek for a second too longer, a second too quick.

Oh, how he wished that love worked like flowers. If it was so easy to give his own to Akira, he would’ve reached out and handed an entire field to him, like the forget-me-not that decorated his hair.

“You were my last customer,” Akira sighed, a tired smile pulling up his cheeks, “My kindest one. I was all but happy to gift you the love I saw you longed for, for a man such as you should never feel melancholy like the one in your past.”

“And now you suffer the same fate.”

The words soon turned his smile bittersweet, though, his tone a perfect match.

“Yes, well.. It was more than worth it all.”

Goro gulped, feeling like he attempted to swallow a stone more than anything— and in that moment, there wasn’t much for him to say, nothing much for him to do.

And so, he asked.

“Then, Heartsmith.. May I give you my thanks? After all this time?”

Unblinking, wordless, Akira nodded.

Goro’s hands shook as he discarded the gloves from them, slow as he clenched and unfurled them in his nervousness. Throughout the entire ordeal of Goro collecting his breathing and his nerves, Akira watched him silently, found himself closing the distance between where they sat inch by small inch.  
The moment their eyes had once more locked, Goro felt his heart stop, felt it beat tenfold faster in his chest, and with hands that still trembled, he reached out, cupped Akira’s cheeks.

Though the man claimed to be heartless, the warmth beneath Goro’s palms did not lie, and the way those dark eyes of his seemed to find its light spoke for their own— and when he’d leaned in, and he’d tasted the leftover coffee swiped upon Akira’s lips, he could swear on his word that Akira Kurusu could not have been any more heartless than he was.

The kiss was quick, _chaste_ , but Goro still hoped that it beheld all the love that Akira had given him.

“If.. If it’s alright with you, Akira..” Goro felt the man’s hands lay over his own, keeping them upon his cheeks as he listened. “I would very much like to share the love that you’ve given my heart.”

Akira looked hesitant, still, his eyes lingering on Goro’s yet his lips trembling with the fear.

“Is there any hope yet for my small, shattered heart to love?”

But Goro was quick to give him an answer.

“It looks _pretty damaged_ , but it can still be fixed, even if it took a bit more time.”

He echoed those words, like the way Akira had as he so fondly retold their tale.

At that, a small laugh bubbled from Akira’s throat, something in the way he looked at Goro then telling him that it couldn’t have been faked.

Goro could say it was the warmest sound he’s ever heard in his life.

“Well, then.. _Heartsmith_..”

A surprised yelp muffled from his lips once Akira had dived back into them, a kiss planted upon him that was less _chaste_ and less _quick_ , before Akira withdrew with the same joy _and_ mischief lighting up his eyes.

It suited him.

“If it’s with you, then I’d like to take as much time as possible.”

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAAAAAA that was  
> so soft  
> like holy he c k i cant i watched starbot dubs' voiceover dub for hearts for sale and i just  
> dived into it like holy fuck I WANTED MY HAPPY ENDING FOR THE HEARTSMITH TOO OKAY.  
> and what better way to do that than with shuake ?? u w u  
> i k n o w goro's probably like--  
> super duper ooc but honestly ??? im vibing. i just wanted to write this so bad askjfashfdjh
> 
> (also for anyone asking where the hell i've been with sos track 33 and like oil and water chapter 2,,,,, i've been busy im sorry)
> 
> listen list !!  
> pan's labyrinth ost - lullaby (music box version)  
> [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TFXK3c3SYvU)


End file.
